


Macabre

by astronavigatrix



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Freeform, Gen, Humanstuck, sort of, vaguely Aradia/Dave, vaguely a lot of things really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 09:34:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7355593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astronavigatrix/pseuds/astronavigatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thoughts on death, in a manner of speaking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Macabre

      Aradia Megido injects her softly accented English with casual Japanese as she sips Italian coffee and reads French poetry. Her clothing borders on old-school Americana, all long skirts, shiny shoes and button-down shirts, long, tumbling twists of dark hair perpetually loose around her, a nebulous cloud of heavy ink. Lips red as a matador's cape are always smiling, sometimes earnest, sometimes not, even when she's breathing out katas between sharp elbow strikes.  
  
      Aradia Megido is fluent in English and Japanese, but is best versed in the language of the dead. She breathes hieroglyphs and sings cuneiform, wakes blinking pyramid sand from her eyes, the way to Atlantis hidden as a yawn makes her eyes water. Lost tongues or lost places, neither deters her, intent on being up to her elbows in the bleaching bones of the old world.  
  
      Skulls are kept above her bed, a neat little shelf of the macabre; she's named each empty skeleton as if they were pets-- no, as if they were friends, and he finds that the habit catches, the dead things kept floating on his own shelves taking on identities of their own to match.  
  
      Aradia Megido talks about dying like coming home; like going on a trip, a grand adventure waiting in the wings.  
  
      But she doesn't seek it, finds no satisfaction in not enjoying the life she's got while it lasts, save for the odd little half-deaths she shares with him when the dead fall silent and she jokes it's her way of commiserating. And he understands, because he is full of deaths too; his own and those of the ones he couldn't save.  
  
      Aradia Megido is made of death, but in her arms, for once, he lives.

**Author's Note:**

> 2 AM drabbles are something else.


End file.
